


Last Good Thing About This Part Of Town

by whomst_ve



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: Gen, I haven't read it through since I wrote it so could be terrible! Who knows!, So uh... here it is, i wrote this ages ago but i never posted it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-14
Updated: 2018-01-14
Packaged: 2019-03-04 21:16:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13373208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whomst_ve/pseuds/whomst_ve
Summary: Jacobi deals with Maxwell's death.





	Last Good Thing About This Part Of Town

Maxwell and Jacobi. Jacobi and Maxwell. They were always put together, both in life and, apparently, in people’s minds. No one ever thought of one without the other. Of course, this wasn’t completely unbased - they’d spent a lot of time together even before they were shoved into the mission from hell. Sharing a lunch in the coffee shop a few blocks away from their office, arriving and leaving work together, always chatting and laughing together.

Daniel Jacobi stared at the ceiling above his bunk. It was grey. Everything was grey. Whoever designed the Hephaestus, or the Urania for that matter, clearly hadn’t thought about the aesthetic potential for the ships. Everything was the same utilitarian colours, undecorated save for the bursts of personality that appeared through the ship. Eiffel’s photo of a woman and a young girl, smiling and laughing, tucked under the comms board. The letter that Minkowski read over and cried when she thought no one was looking, kept in an envelope and pinned onto her wall with a collection of photos of her - younger, happier - with friends and family, exuding love and contentment. A wipe-clean board in the galley that always had a message from someone.

_(‘Stop taking the spaghetti, Eiffel! I know it’s you!’ (In Minkowski’s distinct handwriting.)_  
‘It’s not me! Why am I the first suspect?!’ (Eiffel, of course.)  
‘Who else would be taking it?’  
Two days later, after tension between the two all the while:  
‘The true suspect has been found. Sorry for previous accusations.’  
‘WHERE DID YOU HIDE IT???’ (To the surprise of everyone, Lovelace.)) 

Jacobi didn’t personalise his room. It was as cold and empty as when he first arrived. There was no point trying to make the place feel like home if he knew it wouldn’t. It remained grey and lonely, a place for necessity without personality.

Maxwell, though. Her room was just like her - messy, scattered, beautiful in its disorder.

And now, so, so hard to be in.

It had been two days since he’d had to go in there, a week since she’d...gone. It hadn’t seemed like it would be a problem until he got to the door, and found that he couldn’t go any further. There were computer parts strewn across the desk, along with a notebook that was already half full with ideas for modifications for Hera, the station and whatever else crossed Maxwell’s mind as she sat, for hours, thinking of what else she could do to help others. Even from the door, Jacobi could see the last thing she’d written. Talk to Daniel. It had been the last straw, and he’d slid down the doorframe and finally allowed the grief that he’d been pushing down for days to overcome him. It had been twenty minutes before Eiffel had found him, going to check if he was coming back with the book they needed. By that point, he’d been staring blankly at the wall, unresponsive to anything Eiffel asked him, panicked. He knew he didn’t really care, none of them did. The only reason they spoke to him was to ask him to fix something, and even that they did with trepidation. Even the one person he’d thought he could trust had been using him, and hadn’t even tried to lie about it, not in the end.

After Eiffel realised what had happened, he’d sat with him until he was able to coax a reply out of him. Although he was unwilling to admit it, talking to Eiffel about Maxwell, and everything she’d done for him, had meant to him, had helped. He’d been taken back to his room, still not completely returned to his usual composure, and hadn’t been out of it since. Members of the crew occasionally came by to check if he was still alive, but didn’t offer anything else. They didn’t owe him anything, of course. Even if he hadn’t known exactly what was happening, he knew enough for his actions to be unforgivable. Enough to be held responsible for the deaths on the ship. Maxwell’s death.

‘Let’s go be monsters.’ That was the last thing he’d said to her, so sure that they’d make it out together, like they always did. But now she was gone, and he was alone, staring at a blank wall, a blank world.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic so feedback is very welcome! I'm also posting this... a long time after it would have happened in the show but it's always a good time to bring back the fact that Maxwell died, right?


End file.
